Not a Tank
by Frost Mcloud
Summary: The story of an outcast, will he continue to be hated by survivors, or will one of them find that she loves him. Will he die protecting the ones who hate him? Find out in Frost Mcloud's first Fan Fict.


Not a Tank

There were three survivors, he could hear them all too well, the survivors scared the hell outa him. . . They always shot at him . . . they never listened they always tried to kill him. It had never occurred to him to attack them, not a single one of them, he had always just ran away. The whoops and yells of the all to happy survivors, all too happy to see him leave rung in his ears even now. 'That's it then', he decided, 'This will be my last chance before I end it all . . .' he thought. 'That acid . . . that vat of acid is probably the only thing that can end this miserable life of mine' he thought as the survivor's footsteps came closer. "It looks like this place is empty," he heard a male voice say. "Not even a single zombie," he heard the same voice mumble. "What do you think happened?" he heard what sounded like a girl. "Do you think there are any survivors?" he heard another girl speak. "I don't know, maybe-what was that?" he said suddenly. He had to have heard him.

He was hiding in the back room, of a big, but also empty, warehouse. He was the reason there weren't any zombies in the place, they were scared of him. "P-please, don't shoot," he said quickly. "Shit, you scared us," he heard the man say and heard him walking closer towards the door of the little back room. "Don't!" he said suddenly, "Don't come any closer," he could feel his oversized heart beating in his chest, his breathing started becoming shallow and quick, he was scared. "What? Why? What's wrong?" the man asked. He heard the girls take a step back. "I-I'm gonna come out . . . just. . . just don't shoot, okay?" he said cautiously. Slowly, he grasped the tiny door knob in his hand and pulled the door open and slowly stepped out, almost having to crawl through the opening as the door frame creaked. He could already see the shocked looks on their faces as he stood up. The man's eyes widened as he screamed "Jesus Christ! It's a tank, RUUUN!" He understood their terror; he had to live with it every day, being a monster. He sighed, not even bothering to look up as he heard the scuffle of feat of them running away. He hung his head and prepared to crawl back into the small little back room.

He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He would have given anything to be human again right then. "You don't want to hurt us do you?" he heard from behind him. He turned around real quick, and saw one of the girls still standing there, not scared but with a look of interest. He tried to take a step back but only found himself bumping into the wall behind him. "No don't!" he cried putting up his massive arms in self-defense when he saw the fire Axe sitting in her hands. She glanced down at the Axe and slowly set it down and slid it to the side. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you, your safe." She said slowly standing back up. "MELISSA, NOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING RUUUN" the man yelled back into the warehouse. "It's okay Jake, he's not gonna hurt us," she called back. "What? Are you insane?"

She shook her head, her short red hair shifting with the movement. She took a step forward towards him. He flinched back, pressing against the wall. 'It's a trick, it's got to be a trick. . .' he thought. But he was left speechless when she put her hand on his shoulder, "It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you." She assured him. "Just relax, okay, your safe," she continued, placing her other hand on his other arm "Just stay calm, and sit here for a second, and I'll be right back," she said motioning to for him to sit down on the ground. He nodded slowly and eased down the wall into a sitting position. He was so amazed by the girl's reaction to him that he barely noticed the tears streaming down his face or even how happy he was. She turned around and jogged to the entrance of the warehouse, completely unafraid of him.

"What the hell are you doing? That's a TANK!" he could hear the ma yell. He could hear the girl saying something but couldn't quite make out what she was saying. "Melissa, it's a Tank, T-A-N-K-Tank!" the man was incredulous, "He's different!" he heard her snap, "Oh yeah, and how is that? How is he different the all of the other blood thirsty monsters out there?" he retorted back, "He's scared!" she replied, "and he . . . he didn't chase us . . . he even spoke to us!" she said quickly. There was only silence for what seemed like an eternity, he almost thought they had left until the man spoke up again. "Fine. . . But if we die, I'm dragging you to hell with me," he said sarcastically. "That's okay with me, it can't be any better than this one."

After a moment he heard footsteps coming back into the warehouse. After another second or so, the man reappeared around the corner, cautiously, his Lewisville slugger at the ready. He was followed by the red haired girl, with the other girl tagging along close behind, holding onto the back of her shirt. "Can you speak?" the man said cautiously. He nodded slowly watching the bat. "You don't look like a normal tank. . ." the man commented. "Not a tank. . ." it mumbled. The man jumped back as if he'd been hit, "It spoke!" he shouted as if stunned. The girl put her hand on his bat, and gave him a look, and he lowered it reluctantly. "Does it have a name?" he asked warily. "'It' is a he . . . I think" she said after a moment. "Y-yes. . . I mean. . . I am male. . . m-my name is. . . I think it's Dameon." He spoke still scared that the man was going to beat him with the bat. "His voice. . . I don't know, it doesn't sound like a tank's, it sounds . . . human." The girl behind the red head spoke. "No! Not a human, a monster!" Dameon spoke quickly. "You got that right pal," the man said. "Jake!" The red head snapped.

The red head shook her head, "My name is Melissa," she said placing a hand on his shoulder and gesturing to herself, "He's Jake, and she's Shella," she spoke, gesturing to each of them in turn. She seemed almost at a loss for what to say next. "What are you?" Jake spoke up for her, "Your skin isn't pale and rotting like a Tank's, and you seem a bit, I don't know. . . smaller, less deformed, and your heads not all shrunken into your shoulders. . . now that I look at you, you don't look anything like a tank. . ." he admitted. "Not a tank. . ." Dameon mumbled again. "Well, if you're not a tank, and not a human . . . what are you . . . ?" he asked. "Not sure. . ." Dameon mumbled, wiping his face with his massive hands. "But I'm not a tank. . ."


End file.
